


A Life That Could Have Been

by Minya_Mari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Enjoy!, Honestly love them all, I Don't Even Know, I Saw Three Ships, Please read, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could have happened, had Rhaegar won at the Trident, and The Sack of King's Landing never came about. Follows mostly Arya's perspective, but little dips of others as well. R&R's would be very muchly appreciated!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Wolves and Dragons

She loved sword-fighting with Jon.

At nearly six and ten he was old enough to go on hunting trips with his father, Rhaegar, but chose to stay in King's Landing with her. It felt nice to be someone's favourite. "Ha!" She cried, and faked a lunge to the left, her blunted practice sword connecting with a thwack on his shin.

He hissed and parried another well-aimed swing at his head. "Hey! I thought we agreed no head-shots!" He told her.

Arya simply giggled in response as she turned on her heel and ran off back to the Red Keep.

_\--x--_

Arya just stepped into the Throne Room when Jon lifted her up by the waist. Laughter bubbled up past her lips as his fingers danced across her rib cage.

"Yield?" He asked, amusement in his voice.

"Never!" Arya kicked him, and wriggled with all the power her little body could muster. His grip loosened, and she knew he'd done so to amuse her, but she rolled away, sword in hand nonetheless.

Arya swung, aiming for his wrist, and Jon skipped back a step as he picked up his own sword.

And so the game started again.

Arya managed to knock Jon off his feet, and started laughing at the expression he pulled.

Of course, that was the same time the Princes and Princesses decided to walk in.

"Arya!" Her dark head turned to see her sister, Sansa, looking horrified at the scene before her.

Prince Aegon had a smirk on his stupid, smug face, and Arya resisted the urge to slap it off. He was a year older than Jon, which made him easily five years older than Arya herself, and a man grown at that. But every now and then he'd act like such a child that she'd laugh with or at him, she didn't think it very much mattered which.

She threw him a withered look before addressing his little aunt. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, Your Grace."

Daenerys smiled warmly at her, and Arya knew that the little she-dragon considered her a friend. "Of course not," Dany told her, then looked over at her Stark nephew. "But my nephew may not have any pride left." Her smile widened, "You are very good with a sword, you would make a good knight."

_If I were a man, and not some little girl-boy_.  Arya thought bitterly.

Arya kept her face from showing her anger, and schooled her features into a small smile, like how you mother had taught her. "Thank you, Your Grace. But women aren't allowed for such things, you know." Dany nodded, but something flashed in her eyes, something she couldn't quite place. Rhaenys shifted from foot to foot, her ebony tresses were put up in the Southron style, and a ruby circlet graced her brow. Her viper's skin appeared darker in the false light; she stuck out among the other dragons. While they all had the Targaryen look to them; silver hair and violet eyes, she looked like her mother- Queen Eila of Dorne.

"Did Father not say that we were to be there on time? You know how he gets.." Rhaenys murmured.

Arya opened her mouth to tell her just how her grand-father got, and Jon saw, but he wasn't fast enough to stop the words that tumbled out of her mouth. "They say that Targaryens are like the flip of a coin."

Jon got to his feet properly and grabbed her arm. "Enough, little wolf."

Daenerys grinned, amused with the little she-wolf. "Aye," the she-dragon agreed. "It is what they say. Genius and brilliance or insanity and madness." Arya smiled back, happy that at least someone was on her side.

Dany motioned for Arya to join her as she walked, and she did so; because no one in their right mind would deny a Targaryen. Tucking her arm in Arya's, the little dragon tilted her silver head towards Arya's mahogany as if to share secrets as they walked to the main feasting hall. The others wandered on ahead, Arya watched as Daenerys' eyes lingered on her brother-husband's form. Arya felt the grey and blue silks of her skirts brush against her ankles and again wished that she'd had the mind to steal some of Bran's over shirts and breeches. "If you ask me," Daenerys whispered quietly, her soft, silver-blonde hair gently touching Arya's shoulder. "I'd say that Viserys will go as mad as my father ever was." The silver princess smiled secretly at her. "But do not tell him that."

The girls shared a giggle at that, and Sansa glared back at Arya in jealousy. Arya glared in return. She did not know why the little she-dragon had taken an interest in herself and not her older, prettier sister, not that she was complaining though. But what she did know was that she was not to fault. "Your sister does not seem to like your favour with me." Dany said, seeing the look passed between the two.

Arya spoke before she thought. "And your niece does not like me at all, that is why they get along so well, Your Grace." She felt like biting her tongue off at the sharp look that her friend gave her.

"That is a lie. Rhaenys favours you well enough, does she not? She has no reason to dislike you, Arya."

Arya knew that her words were meant to be comforting. Only problem with them was that she knew that Princess Rhaenys hated her; wether it be the displeased looks she threw her way when they were in the same room, or if Arya spoke to her at all, the Crowned Princess would purse her full lips and look down upon the Direwolf. Arya shook her head. Not that she cared what the uppity dragon thought of her anyways. "It isn't." She insisted.

Daenerys looked to be unconvinced, but let the subject drop. "As you will." She murmured. The grand doors opened for them, and the dragons and wolves alike walked into the great hall together.


	2. Acorn Dresses, Weddings, and the Bastard Blacksmith

Arya sought the little princess' company more than her own sister's on most days, but today Sansa was to be married. And her Lady mother had said that this would be the last time they'd see each other in a long while, so Arya agreed to it; although grudgingly.

Arya had tried to sneak into the feasting hall in Brandon's clothes, but was spotted by Princess Rhaenys, who in turn, told Lady Catelyn.

That made Arya dislike her more.

"What are you wearing?" Lady Catelyn all but screeched when she spotted her.

Arya groaned. " I took some of Bran's breeches, but he said that he did not mind at all, mother. And I will not wear that st-" At the look the half word earned her, Arya paused and reconsidered. "The dress with the acorns on it, mother."

Arya let out a puff of air as her mother fussed and the dark tresses on her fore went up and settled once more. "It's nothing like what a lady would wear, let alone me."

Her mother sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Come, my sweet." Lady Catelyn said, reaching for her daughter's hand and leading her to her room in the Western Tower. She closed the door behind her, and Arya sat down upon her vast bed with a huff of annoyance.

"I shan't wear it." The little she-wolf insisted.

Catelyn gave her daughter a long look filled with both sadness and happiness. Arya wondered how that could be the case, after all, sadness is the poison to joy. She hadn't done anything exceptionally bad lately, and couldn't think of how she'd made her mother unhappy. "Did I do something, Mother?"

Catelyn broke out of her thoughts - whatever it was they were - and shook her head. "No. You've done nothing, my sweet summer child." Her pale hand stretched out and tucked her daughter's dark brown hair from her face.

To Catelyn, Arya looked so much like a Stark then, all wild dark hair that was unkempt and steely grey eyes that burned with her firry spirit. "You simply reminded me of someone I once knew."

Arya's curiosity piqued, and the Princess of Winterfell leant forward. "Who?" She asked inquisitively.

Lady Catelyn lifted the acorn dress and laid it softly on the bed near to Arya. "The wild and wilful Lady Lyanna Stark." She murmured quietly.

Arya was shocked, and frowned at her mother, certain the woman had it wrong. "But aunt Lyanna was beautiful."

"Yes, that she was, my sweet." Catelyn smiled tenderly at her. "And so you have grown to look as she did."

Arya smiled back at the complement.

"But, a lady does not wear breeches to her sister's wedding night."

Arya groaned again, and threw herself back onto the bed. "I do not wish to wear it!"

"But you will. Come now, my girl."

**_\--x--_ **

Arya fidgeted in her ugly dress most of the night.

Her hair hung freely about her shoulders and back in neat, dark waves where usually it was like a bird's nest.

The feast being held was one to send Sansa off, and it was quite large. Daenerys had found her a few hours before it had begun, and had giggled softly at how uncomfortable the she-wolf had looked. Arya had laughed along with her, but punched Aegon as hard as she could when he dared laugh at her. It had only made him laugh harder, and her angrier. "Shut up!" she'd snarled, and Jon had pulled her back gently.

"You don't look bad." He had told her, but Arya had only snorted at him, and scoffed at his half-hearted complement.

"I look like a bloody oak tree."

Then she'd stalked back to Daenerys, and had stuck by her most of the night.

King Rhaegar, Arya thought, was one of the most handsome men she'd ever set her eyes upon. Not that she hadn't thought it before - she had - it was just that tonight, for some reason, he was clothed in a deep blood-red cloth that made the pale of his skin and silver of his long hair stand out much more than usual. Her grey eyes slid to his side.

Queen Eila. Quiet, gentle, kind, Queen Eila was seated next to him, clad in the Targaryen colours. Arya thought that they did not suit her colouring, just as Rhaenys' ruby red Myrish-silk lace dress did nothing to flatter the Crowned Princess.

Sansa was another matter entirely.

Her bright Tully red hair stood out against the white of her gown, and the colours of Tyrell made the pale of her skin glow in the false light. She looked like a princess that night, and Arya had told her as such. Sansa had blushed like the maiden she was, and had thanked her younger sister. Arya felt happiness swell in her breast for Sansa as she watched her talk quietly with their mother - and cursed the fact that more like than not, she would never again see her sweet sister after this night - when sadness began to poison it.

**_-x-x-_ **

She had managed to sneak away from the party shortly before the bedding, her stupid acorn dress still on.

She had promised her mother that she would wear it, and Arya Stark would not break her promises.

The castle forge was not as empty as the rest of the Red Keep.

The singing of metal being worked rang clear in the night air, and became louder the closer she drew to it.

He looked most like a man grown, he did. Ink black hair stuck to his face and neck, slick with sweat.

Arya's cheeks felt warm when she noticed that he wore no shirt as he worked the forge; coal soot clung to his body, and Arya felt something stir in her. He glanced up from his work, and she contemplated trying to hide, but thought better of it. He'd think her a fool if she did. Besides, his eyes sent a thrill down her spine. They were a colour of blue she had never seen before, and they were beautiful.

He bent the knee, ever courteous, and when he rose he spoke. "'Ello, m'lady. May I help you?" His voice was husky and tilted with the South, but even though he was only some baseborn armourer's apprentice, he still made her blush and look away.

"I- err- No, I came here- well not here here, to get away from the wedding, you see." Arya took in a deep breath, and the armourer's apprentice grinned at her. "May I stay here a while?" She asked, and he gave her a confused look.

"Why would you want that, m'lady?"

"Why? Do you not want me here? I shan't get in the way, I promise-"

The apprentice's blue eyes widened. "It ain't that, m'lady. Just that, well, wouldn't it be inappropriate for you to be down here with escort when everyone's up there in the feasting hall?"

She hadn't thought of that, it had slipped her mind. What if someone did see her down here talking to the baseborn blacksmith? It wasn't that he was baseborn she didn't like, simply the talk it would cause should anyone ever get wind of it. But, Arya being Arya, she decided that she did not care the slightest.

"I might be. But I simply want company that isn't as uppity as Rhaenys Targaryen." Arya lifted herself up onto the counter. "May I stay here a while?" She requested again, and he sighed, nodding.

"As you wish, m'lady."

Arya watched him as he worked, and swung a few of the swords that he had made for Lords and knights. "What do you call yourself?" She asked as she swung at an invisible opponent.

"Gendry, if it please you, m'lady." He responded, only half listening to her.

"And why would it please me?" she snorted. "My name's Arya by the way."

Gendry nodded and looked her over once more. "You're Lord Stark's daughter." Arya nodded, waiting to see where he was going with this. "Then why are you wearing that?" She gave him a foul look and reached over to wack his arm with her small, closed fist. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Oh, shut it! It didn't hurt my hand, so you aren't hurt neither." A gleeful smile quirked her mouth as she looked at him.

"What kind of a Lord's daughter hits people?"

"The bad kind!"

He grinned back at her, before going back about his work. "You look nice though, I think." He muttered softly, so softly that she thought that maybe she wasn't supposed to hear.

Arya tugged at her stupid acorn dress. "I look like a tree," she repeated from before; a different conversation with another boy who made her feel the same. "A bloody oak tree at that."

Gendry simply smirked at her.

Gendry brought the hammer up from the metal.

"Nice though," he told her, a reassuring smile on his face. "A nice oak tree."


	3. Quiet and Direwolf pups

"Where were you?" He asked by way of greeting.

Arya looked down to the ground at the voice, deep and familiar.

Jon was leaning against the tree Arya had clambered up earlier in the night, her pale blue shoes near his feet.

"Not there." She answered evasively.   
"Arya," his tone was a tired one, and  she kicked his shoulder half-heartedly. 

"I was wandering around the castle for a time, then I came out here, to the gardens."  She lied, and Gendry's face flashed in her mind.

Jon caught her foot by the ankle as she went to swing her heel at him again. "You might not ever see your sister again." He told her and Arya felt a lump form in her throat at the thought. 

"I know that," she snapped a little too harshly.   _And I shall miss her_.

She glared down at the hand holding her foot. "If you dare tickle me, I'll not be responsible for any injuries that befall you, you realize?"

Jon grinned, mirth on his face and mischief dancing in his grey eyes.  He traced one finger down the middle of her sole and her leg jerked; connecting solidly with his arm.

"Ow!" Jon complained, and Arya grinned down at him.

"I told you as such," she said smugly, but she held her arms out to him. "Catch me?"

"Of course."

She leapt from her perch and he caught her with a practiced ease.  

Arya remembered the day she first met Jon, even though she could not remember anything else at the age of three.

She vaguely recalled King Rhaegar speaking with her father within Winterfell's walls, and Jon standing close behind him; a solemn expression clouded Jon's  long face, and he looked just like father.   She had giggled and toddled over to him on baby legs, much like how Rickon used to, she supposed. And Jon had smiled warmly at her and called her baby cousin as he lifted her up into the air.

 She also remembered that Princess Rhaenys did not treat her any differently back then, as apposed to now.

Arya had followed Jon everywhere, and even sought out his bed most nights back then, until her mother told her that it wasn't proper.

He had been the one to teach her to wield a sword, too.

He set her gently to the ground, his grey eyes clouded with some emotion she couldn't quite place.  "Come on, little wolf. We'd best be getting back." He picked up her light velvet blue shoes, and urged her on ahead.  
 Arya reached for his hand and tugged him to the castle with her.

 

_**\--x--** _

 

Arya froze when she spotted him, and a wide smile spread across her face. "Robb!" She cried, and dashed towards her eldest brother.  The air left his lungs with a _woof_ , and his strong arms came around her.  "Hello, little sister."

She grinned up at him. "What are you doing here?"  She asked, excitement showing in her long, Stark face.

Robb ruffled her hair like how Jon usually did. "I've come to see my other little sister off. " He told her, a smile that matched her own gracing his face. "But did you want a present first? I haven't seen you in nigh on two years."  
Arya nodded eagerly, and rocked back on her heels.  She heard yipping, and a servant with red hair handed over a wolf pup.

The little thing had big paws, light grey fur and intelligent gold eyes.

"This one's yours." Robb told her and she knew her eyes had gone wide with excitement. "But father said that you're to train her properly if you are to keep her. She's a Direwolf, Arya. One of the last."

Arya shifted the pup's weight to her left arm and traced the markings on her fur with her other hand.   Jon walked up the steps quietly, and nodded in greeting to Robb, who nodded in return.

Robb lifted another wolf pup from a basket. This one was pure white, it had blood red eyes - the colour of Targaryen - and it looked to be the runt of the litter.

"It's smaller than Nymeria." Arya commented, and Jon gave her a bemused look.

"Nymeria?" He asked quizzically.

Arya gestured to the pup in her arms with her chin. "Her." The newly dubbed Nymeria started to lick her mistress' face.

Robb held the white pup as he had with Nymeria moments ago; by the scruff of the neck.  "I know you're not a Stark, but you're as much my brother as Bran or Rickon."

Jon had a solemn look about him as Robb gave him the little albino pup. 

Arya smiled up at him. "What are you going to name him?" She asked eagerly, adjusting her grip on her own pup again.  When Jon did not answer her immediately, she turned back to her brother. "Does Bran have one? What of Rickon?" She paused in thought before she blurted out. "Did you give one to Sansa as wedding present?"

Robb grinned down at her. "Yes, little sister, I did." He lifted a smoke- grey pup from the basket, and held it with a type of familiarity.  "This is Grey Wind." He told her, and the pup regarded her with intelligent yellow eyes. 

"Hello, Grey Wind." She greeted, and slowly reached out to the Direwolf pup. He sniffed her hand before licking it, and she felt a smile spread across her face.

 After a moment or two, Robb put the pup back into a make-shift cage, and locked it.  "I'd best go find father, I need to speak with him."

Arya nodded, her smile waning. "Will I see you in the morn?"

"I will try to see you before I go, little sister. I swear it."  
With that he was gone up the stone steps, as Arya tried to help Jon pick a name for his little quiet wolf pup.


	4. Rhaenys's P.O.V

Rhaenys  watched on as her youngest brother helped Arya Stark train her direwolf pup.  His own wandered nearby the pools, quiet as a ghost.

Rhaenys sat side by side with Daenerys and the sunlight made the water in the gardens sparkle with an other-worldly beauty. 

She felt jealousy rear its ugly head as she watched them interact, and busied herself with combing her long fingers through her hair to distract herself. The stupid little girl did not even know that she had him wrapped around her little finger. 

Wherever she went, he went. And vice versa.

Rhaenys bent her dark haired-head to her aunt's. "I wonder," she started, and Daenerys glanced up and moved closer.

 "Wonder what?"

"What it is in Stark women that make Targaryen men bend the knee." Her light brown eyes never left Jon's form as she spoke, and possessiveness edged her.

Daenerys watched silently, and bit her lip before she spoke. "Most women tame themselves as they age, my sweet.  Women always try to tame themselves as they get older, but the ones who look best are oft a bit wilder."

Daenerys' words sounded much older than her six-and-ten years. 

And they were true.

Arya Stark was wilder than anyone she had ever seen, but Rhaenys had heard tales of the beautiful Lady Lyanna.

A woman that nearly caused the downfall of her family, and had made her father forget his vows to his wife.

Tales told of The Tourney at Harrenhall, and the Knight of the Laughing Tree. 

Rhaenys had heard her father speaking with Lord Eddard once about how much the two girls were alike.  The words 'Lyanna come again.' were used more than once.

When Rhaenys was younger, all that she had wanted was Jon. But her father had made her wed Aegon, whom she did not love, not truly.

And even now, when she was with child, she still wanted the brother her father had tried so hard to create, but could never be hers.

His time in the North changed her sweet brother into a wolf that breathed fire - he did not quite know what he himself was - and his ties and loyalty to House Stark seemed stronger than those to his father's.

It was around the time when he returned home that her father had announced that a few of the Stark children were going to be fostered out to King's Landing, and it was around that time -when she first saw the two together - that her heart turned to stone.

He was no longer hers as he had been when they were children.

His heart belonged to the little Stark bitch who wasn't even bright enough to notice.


	5. Homesickness

The first snows of winter were shedding that morn.

Arya shivered, and resented the fact that she'd become a Southroner without even realizing it.

 _I'm a daughter of the North, and here I am shivering at the first winter snows._   She thought bitterly.

It'd been nearly two moons since Robb had come to King's Landing, and Nymeria was already large as a grown dog.

Arya buried her fingers in her direwolf's coarse fur.

Her Septa had told her that she had the hands of a blacksmith, but when she'd told Gendry as such he had just laughed at her and showed her his own hands; they'd been much rougher and more calloused than her own - a blacksmith's hands.

Her thoughts wandered off to her sister, long gone in the Reach with her Lord husband.

Arya wondered how she was fairing.

Nymeria whined and Arya gave her companion a look. "What? You cannot be sad - you did not even know Sansa." But those intelligent, warm gold eyes said otherwise. "I miss her," Arya confessed quietly.

Nymeria was the only creature alive that Arya would willingly show weakness to, and she would sit and listen intently - her golden eyes taking everything in.

A cold nose shoved itself under her ear and Arya let out a squeak.

She turned her head and came face to face with Ghost; his red eyes shining in the white of his fur. Arya stroked his muzzle affectionately.

"Hello, Ghost." She tipped her face to the skies, to whatever sunlight left. "How long were you listening?" She asked the chilled morning air, and Jon sighed from his hiding spot.

"Why do you never tell anyone of how you feel?" He asked, and came to sit beside her.

Arya drew her knees to her chest. "Because - they fuss over me then, when all I want is to be left alone."

Nymeria rose and pounced playfully at her brother, and he snapped back.

"Does Nymeria count as everyone else?"

The wolves stopped in their play and cocked their heads at their mistress and master.

Arya gave Jon a look. "No, she's mine."

She lay back on the dirt, her steel grey eyes focused on something far away. "You do not count as them either, you're part of my pack." She told him, and flicked her eyes towards him.

He was smiling.

She felt tears prick at her eyes. He looked so much like her father then - and it stung. She clambered into his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist -hiding her face in his chest as she let the salty tears silently fall. "I miss my father as well…" she murmured softly, and the tears came harder.

He was ridged a moment before his strong arms came about her and held her close. She tried to quiet herself, and to stop crying, after all - there was nothing to cry over, but couldn't quite get her sadness to stop. "It's okay to cry, Arya." He told her and he patted down her dark hair.

She pulled back suddenly - her flushed cheeks still wet with tears - and scoffed at him as if she hadn't just been weeping silently moments before. "No, it's not." She snapped. "Crying shows weakness and fear. And Direwolves aren't weak, nor do they fear." She rose abruptly from the ground and stalked off for her chambers; her blue skirts swirled about her ankles and her direwolf stalked after her.

**_-x-_ **

Despite the coaxing from her Septa, Arya allowed Nymeria to sleep with her that night.

She needed Nan close, and felt empty and alone without her;  that was something only Jon and Bran would understand now.

Rickon had gone with Robb  back to Winterfell, and Arya hadn't been able to say her farewells.

 _I may never see them again either_. She thought sadly to herself.

Nymeria's great head rested on her belly and it rose and fell with Arya's breaths.

Arya closed her eyes as sleep claimed her, and she dreamt.     
 

_A child ran towards her, all Stark in features._

_It was cold and bitter around them; the winter snow blanketing everything in sight, but his laughter filled that hole in her heart  her family left and she lifted him into her arms.  He looked up into her face with violet eyes and beamed a gapped smile at her. Curled, dark hair framed his long face,  but his eyes gave him away for the Dragon that he was._

_"Who are you, who is your father?" She asked, but the boy simply started to play with her hair. It was longer now, and clean and soft also, and she older._

_Strong arms clad in black furs came about her from behind and a stubbled chin rested on her shoulder. "He's gorgeous is he not?"_

 

Arya woke with a start, and Nymeria woke with her; gold eyes wide open and waiting for danger. 

Arya sat up, and rested her hand on her direwolf's head.  "Calm."  
Nymeria did as bid and relaxed under her mistress' touch. Arya got to her feet slowly and walked to her window, opened it and looked out into the night.

_That dream. Was it a vision?_


	6. Children

A moon later it was announced that Princess Rhaenys was with child.

Aegon reacted much as Arya thought he would - like a child. He buzzed around the castle with excitement while his sister-wife sat back with her usual grace.

Arya's parents had sent a raven with talk of marriage after her first blood months ago. She rejected the suitor - a Frey - but knew that either Lord and Lady Stark would make her a match or the King and Queen would, and that for both, her input would not truly have any impact on the outcome.

Arya was sorely tempted to tell the Prince to shut it when Jon did it for her. "Brother, would you rest your voice for a moment? I know - and have known for the last few hours - that you're to be a father."

Aegon shut up instantly, but gave his half-brother a half-hearted glare.

Arya hid her smile behind her wine glass.

Then something completely out of character happened for Rhaenys - she initiated talks with Arya. "You've had your moon blood, correct?" She spoke with a no nonsense tone, much like how Arya's mother spoke. Arya nodded slowly, not sure where she was going.

Aegon groaned. "No women's talk at the table!"

Rhaenys turned to her brother-husband. "Moon blood can hardly be considered 'women's talk'. If it weren't for my _moon blood_ ," The princess exaggerated the words, "I would not be with your child, now would I?"

Aegon gave her a look, but said nothing in return - conceeding to his wife's words.

Rhaenys turned her dark eyes back on the she-wolf. "Now, as I was saying. You have a match, yes?" Arya shook her head, and Rhaenys seemed genuinely shocked. "Well, then I shall have to have father find you one, won't I?"

Arya felt Jon's eyes on her then, but when she looked to him, he quickly glanced away.

Arya smiled politely at the future dragon queen, and pushed down the chagrin she felt at the princess' offer. "Oh, no, my Lady. You needn't do such a thing."

"And why shan't I?" Rhaenys questioned.

Arya lowered her grey eyes to her wine as she sloshed it around and around in her glass. _I do not wish to lose my freedom, however small it is_. "You can if you wish it, my Lady. It is just that I feel that I am not ready for marriage yet." Arya answered softly, not daring to raise her eyes.

"Lady Arya," Arya lifted her eyes reluctantly, and found the most peculiar expression on Rhaenys' face. It was peculiar because Arya had never seen it directed at herself before. Pity and respect shone in the Princess' eyes. "If that is what you want, my Lady, you shan't be forced." She murmured just as softly.


	7. A moment of happiness

When the moon turned in a few weeks, it was to be her name day, and there was to be a tourney to celebrate.

Arya did not like the fuss that was being made, and had told Jon as such. He had only smiled his secret smile that was only for her and mussed her hair as he told her to enjoy it. She most certainly would not.

The days passed quickly, and Arya spent most of them with Gendry in the forge after abandoning her needlework with her septa and the princesses. They would laugh and jape, or she would help him around the smithy.

The day of the tourney was one she dreaded; a suitor would be chosen for her, surely. She knew it, knew it in her bones, and wished it not true.

But the day came nonetheless, knights jousted and fell, and they asked for favours of ladies to wear.

But not one asked a favour of her, not that she dined to care what knights wanted or didn't.

The sting of the rejection stuck with her most all the day until she found Jon sitting under a tree, his head bowed and his dark hair falling into his face, hiding his eyes from her. A warm feeling settled in her chest, as she watched him doze under the shade of the tree, and a happy smile worked its way to her face. _He is beautiful_ , she thought to herself - able to admit her feelings here and now when she would soon have to banish them again. _How could I have not noticed before?_

Ghost prowled silently around the clearing near the stalls and tents, when Arya knew he should have been tied up as Summer was, as her own direwolf should have been, but wasn't. Nymeria bounded over to him, not the least bit quiet, and snapped at his ear before agilely springing away in the opposite direction.

Arya grinned at her wolf's playful mood and glanced away, up into the tree's branches.

The leaves of the fruit tree sang and rustled with a different life to the weirwood tree in the godswood of King's Landing. Its leaves were a dying yellow, and the fruit that grew in the summer just passed, no longer decorated its branches. It was not cold enough for snow as it had been those first days of winter, it being warmer in the south than back at home, at Winterfell. Rickon had wrote to her of how winter had truly come in the North, of how the blizzards raged like the wolf's blood that flowed through both their veins, and of how the lack of supplies had put a strain on the friendship the Starks held with the Boltons of Dreadfort. He had written of how he thought there might soon be a war- and how he wished she was there.

But Arya Stark had long since given up hope of seeing her home again.

With a sigh of resignation, Arya seated herself next to Jon on the grass, but he did not stir from his slumber, even as she ghosted her fingertips over his lips and wondered how they would feel against her own.

It was when her own lips were only inches from his and she breathed the same air as he that Jon blinked blearily to consciousness. "Arya?" He asked, uncertain.

She smiled, melancholy licking at her, and pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "Just this once," she told him, and removed her hand from his face. Arya took in a shaky breath and lowered her head to his - she did not even know for sure if the prince shared her feelings, after all.

But she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she would not cower from what she wanted.

The touch of lips started a wildfire in her, and he returned her touches and kisses with as much vigour and clumsiness as she to him. The fact that the dragon prince did not know how to kiss amused her for some reason and she let out a soft giggle. Jon pulled back, breathless as she, and tucked her hair from her flushed face.

"What?" He asked, and she simply shook her head, her thoughts did not need voicing, and she brought her lips to his again.

The kisses were clumsy, but they learned the rhythm each other set, and fell into it easily enough. When her lips felt bruised and he was flushed as she, they broke apart only to stare at one another.

Jon swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed at the motion. "I wish to wed you." He told her, and Arya blinked.

"Pardon?"

Jon smiled softly and cupped her cheek. "I wish to wed you, Arya." He repeated softly to her, his warm breath mingling with her own.

Arya enclosed his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing against his cheekbones, and a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "And I want you."

Jon's smiled widened, and he looked so joyful then, she had kissed him simply because she could. He laughed and kissed her jaw, her cheek, her nose, anywhere that he dare press his lips to her skin tingled with awareness and want.

And for a moment, Arya was happy.


	8. And then it ended

But, like most all happy moments - it ended.

The King was far from pleased with their plans, a glare settling in his normally gentle eyes.

"No." He finally ended after a rant about the past and history having a like to repeat itself.

It felt like a physical blow, like the breath was sucked from his lungs.

Arya had been quiet the entire conversation, her eyes had long since turned to steel as the King spoke.

Jon watched her lower lip begin to tremble slightly, but she kept her head held stubbornly high.

His stubborn little she-wolf even now.

"As you wish, Your Grace." She bit out, her tiny hands clenched into fists at her sides.

He watched as his father's violet gaze softened, and realized that mayhaps he still loved Lady Lyanna. Arya looked so much like Jon's mother - everyone who had known her commented on how much the two were alike - and Jon wondered if Rhaegar could see it as well.

Jon felt the disappointment and betrayal in her gaze as she curtsied shallowly to himself.

"My Lord." The words were choked in her mouth, and came out barely a whisper. But they still cut him deeper than any blade would.

Then she turned and fled, her skirts in a flurry with her haste to get away from the scene.

"Arya," Jon started, but his cousin did not heed him. He watched as she fled the Throne Room quick as a shadow cat.

He then turned on his father, the hate he felt edging him, turning his grey eyes to steel as Arya's had.

"Why?" He asked, desperation tinging his tone as he felt sorrow set in. King Rhaegar sighed. "I told you J-"

"No! You did not. You told her, and not for one moment did either of us believe you! She is nothing like my mother, no matter what the people say -"

Rhaegar dropped the calm mask he usually wore, arising from the Iron Throne. "Yes, I know boy!" He came to stand in front of Jon. "But did you know of the Baratheon bastard within King's Landing? No, of course you did not." Rhaegar calmed somewhat, and gave his son a look. "You are the Prince That Was Promised, and I had it wrong when I thought it Aegon. You are the third head to the dragon, and yours is a song of ice and fire." Rhaegar placed his hand on Jon's shoulder. "But she _will not_ be your bride."

Jon was sure it was then that he stopped caring for anything in life.


	9. Chapter 9

Arya stepped, quiet as a ghost, into the forge.

It didn't matter, of course, Gendry knew she was there anyways.

He was giving her a look that said he was thinking, so she kept quiet and let him. Thoughts were a delicate business, and she knew how they would disappear with the whisper of a word.

"Why are you here, m'lady?" He finally asked, his brow furrowed.

Arya's heart twisted. "I'm leaving."

Gendry rose and walked to her, close enough to touch. Arya rested her forehead against his chest with a sigh.

"I'm to be married to Edric Dayne, and to be the Lady of Starfall."

She felt him chuckle. "But they can't make you a Lady, you'd bite their hands off first."

Arya scowled up at him. "I am being _serious!"_

Gendry nodded, his arms wrapping themselves around her form. "I know, m'lady."

She let out a frustrated sound. "I thought I told you not to call me that?" She said softly, going languid in his embrace.

She placed a hand on his sooty cheek and smiled sadly. "Goodbye, my friend."

Arya of House Stark then slipped easily from Gendry's strong arms and out the way she came, sadness clenching at her heart.

**_-x-x-_ **

When Arya first met Edric Dayne, she thought him a timid thing, much like how Sansa once was.

 _Comparing your soon-to-be-husband to your sister cannot be any good._ She had chide herself.

But still, that judgement did not leave her, even as he pressed his lips to hers and swung about a cloak of his colours upon her shoulders, it stayed stubbornly. That part of her that said marrying this man was not right, and never would be. The small part that still hoped and waited for Jon, because she loved him and no one else.

Arya had been in Starfall for the better half of two years, or so told Allryia when she asked. 'Better half' seemed to imply that Arya liked it in her new home - home, because this was where her family let her be dragged, and Winterfell was gone to her - which she did not.

Bran had written to her a handful of times, telling her of King's Landing, and how even he thought it a dull place. Arya hadn't known that he was in King's Landing until then, and she now missed her brother fiercely.

She hated it in Dorne, it was too hot - even when she stole into some of Ned's breeches and tunic she had nicked from Jon before she'd left and hid in the fresh water pools all day.

Thoughts of her cousin weren't welcome in her mind now, and she had meant it when she told him only once. Only that one time would she let her feelings would show through, and she knew that she shouldn't hold it against Edric that she'd been married to him, but she did - if only a little. She didn't hate him - Arya could not bring herself to hate the man that seemed to love her so much, not when she offered him so little - but she could not bring herself to love him as she had loved Jon.

Even in her whole time as the Lady of Starfall, she had not once swelled with Ned's child, making her feel less than a woman.

Not an able wife.

She could not even give him a child, and that fact had lead her to the kitchens this particular night.

Arya was in her cups when Ned found her that night. He looked at her queerly, as if to study her, but had long since learned that he could not change her. She thought that maybe he did not want to change her because of the childish love he bore her, even when he knew she would not do the same. Ned was too timid to hold much of a fight in an argument with her, though Arya knew he could hold himself in a sword fight. "Arya, my love." He greeted, his blonde hair messy where usually it was groomed.

Though she was slightly tipsy, she studied him intently a moment, finally tilting her head as her steely eyes narrowed. "What is the matter, Ned?" Her husband sighed and settled himself next to her. When he reached for her cup and drank from it, Arya's eyes did not leave his face as he did this; she might not love him, but she knew almost everything about Edric. And the way he was acting, the way he wasn't meeting her gaze, was saying much more than his words would. "Did something happen?" She asked, her hands twisting about her skirts. "Ned?" She pressed.

Edric Dayne rested his head in his hands for a moment, the wine forgotten. "A raven came today." A blackness started to seep into her bones then, a dread that what he had to say next she would not want to hear.

Arya schooled her face into a blank mask as she asked, "What did it say, Ned?"

"Winterfell has gone to war with Dreadfort. And the Iron Isles have rebelled again. Your father has been slain."

That was it then, no preamble, no dodging her with excuses.

Just the truth, harsh as it was.

"Lord Stark is dead?" Arya repeated softly, a detached feeling of numbness spreading through her body.

Ned's purple eyes searched her face for the sadness she should have felt.

He wouldn't find it of course.

Arya offered him a wain smile, and resolutely tucked away that piece of sorrow for another day.

"Love?" He asked and she shook her head as she closed her eyes.

A stab of fear ran through her, fear for her mother, and for her brothers.

She locked eyes with him, steel on violet. "Will you leave for war?" She asked, and fear for her husband threatened to take her words. Anger was starting to rise in her as well, steady and heady with its power. Ned did not say anything for a moment as he weathered the strength of her anger, but sighed and rose from his seat next to her in favour of standing nearer to the hearth.

"Yes."

Arya rose as well, her anger in the tone she used. "No, you can't! You owe nothing to the-"

“I _owe_ them you!”

Arya quieted, and Ned turned apologetic almost instantly. “My love, I owe them our marriage, my happiness – though it may not be yours.”

Arya felt sadness close her throat as she searched her husband's face, a man she couldn't - no matter how hard it was she tried - bring herself to love. "I could fight," she offered pathetically, and his lips thinned.

"Please do not test my judgement on this."

She watched him silently a moment, then nodded curtly and accepted his judgement just this once, but she did not know that it would be the last time she'd ever see her husband.

So as he kissed her with a passion borne with fear, Arya was then sure that life was never fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is thirteen when she weds Ned Dayne, and sixteen at the end of this chapter.   
> Just thought you'd like to know.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all.   
> Dentists, urgh... I have that tomorrow. I seems that no matter what is wrong with my teeth, I always manage to get a needle shoved into my gums. :(  
> But for today I shall be updating my fics! Rejoice, my followers! :D

 

Arya stayed in Starfall and sat her husband's seat as best she could. She did not want to, of course - and she was pretty sure most others didn't want her to either - Allyria would sit it much better, she thought.

Arya had to manage the accounts, figure where each of the guards would go, though that was all but done for her by Ned before he left.

She let out a sigh and buried her fingers in Nymeria's fur; Arya missed his company. She sat near the pools, it was an unruly hot day and she was not needed at court, so she saw no reason to be around people. But she did see reason to sulk.

He father was dead, and only now was that fact starting to catch up with her. Arya found herself missing Eddard Stark fiercely, missing when she was younger and he would pull her into a warm hug that chased away her bad moods.

She missed Winterfell and Bran's climbing. She missed Sansa's sweet singing voice and - when Arya did something she approved of, which was far and few between, but still there - her sweet and warm smiles. Arya missed the way Catelyn would fuss over her hair. Missed the way Rickon used to come tumbling towards her and latch onto her leg when he was little, how they used to get into mischief with Bran.

She missed silly little things that she shouldn't - because she was a woman grown and Arya hadn't been to Winterfell in nearly five years to boot.

But she did.

And it _hurt_.

_**-x-x-** _

When a raven came almost a year after The War of the North began, saying that the Starks had lost and that the Boltens controlled Winterfell, Arya fell into a rage.

She mourned Ned, for true she did.

But she _loved_ Winterfell, it was her home, no matter where she went it _always_ would be. Arya was no longer Lady of Starfall, that title passed to Allyria the moment Ned had breathed his last, and now Arya Dayne had no place in the world.

 _Arya Stark_. She reminded herself as she packed a knapsack full of clothes for running away.

Nymeria watched her curiously, seeming to know in her own way that the castle was no longer her home.

"Nymeria: _gloves_." Arya commanded, and the direwolf walked to the small chair, took the gloves between her jaws and brought them to her mistress. "Good girl," Arya praised, fondly touching the wolf's snout.

"We will leave soon," she said softly. "And I will go and find the Faceless Men, because I cannot be myself, and you can be wild as your mother was." She looked out the window of her chambers, a wistful look upon her long face. _If I snuck aboard a ship I could go to the free city of Braavos or even Essos. I would be able to start over in a place where not a soul has heard of Arya Stark or Arya Dayne and be whoever I wanted to be._

 

And Arya did just that.

She left Starfall in the dead of night on a sand steed with a star on it's fore, Nymeria running along side her; her tongue lolling from her mouth.

She came to Storms End nearly a moon later, Arya Dayne having been reported missing almost as long, the Baratheon stronghold not seeming as splendid as tales told.

Arya turned her horse away, and aimed for the coast, she would sell the horse for passage, or if need be, sneak in with the cargo.

She missed Nymeria like a cripple would a phantom limb - it felt wrong not having her now, even though Arya had lived nearly thirteen years without her. _But it would be easier getting to Braavos without her_. Arya told herself. _I left her in The Riverlands, there is plenty of game there, she will live and breed direwolf pups and be happy_.

So, as Arya traded passage onto a ship bound for the free city of Braavos, introducing herself as Nan - short for Nymeria - no one knew who she really was or where she came from - only that she was from the North of Westoros and carried a rapier she'd named Needle that she never let out of her sight and that she desperately sought something in Braavos - she was content.

They did not know what it was she sought in the free cities, and when the son of the captain asked, Nan simply responded with; " _Freedom_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D.P~ Reviewing is helpful, very much so. I'll let you think on that one.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews always help with updates being faster! Tell me what you think.  
>  :)


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